


Hold Me Closer Tiny Dancer

by flowsque



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Tiny Dancer AU, Zayn is a good bro, ed and niall want to be in a band, harry is a piano man, it's safe to say i can't tag, liam shouldn't drive, louis is a tiny dancer, nick enjoys university a bit too much, there's also barbara but she's irrelevant, there's fluff, which is not a thing i know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 15:51:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3856312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowsque/pseuds/flowsque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hold me closer” whispers Harry.<br/><br/>“Closer than this?”<br/><br/>“Closer” he says again in a stubborn tone, and then pulls Louis to his chest, completely encompassing his body. He intertwines their hands and looks down at them, like he can’t believe at his eyes.</p><p><i>"Hold me closer tiny dancer"</i> he hums apropos of nothing, making the rhythm slow and soft for the uncoordinated sway of their hips, brushing together at every small step, setting Louis on fire.</p><p>Or, the one where Louis has a bit of a meltdown and Harry gives him his night. Featuring a road trip, an hipster party and kisses in a beach hut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold Me Closer Tiny Dancer

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This fic is loosely inspired by the song "Tiny Dancer" by Elthon John. So you should probably listen to the song. If you want. Because it's a gem.  
> I blame Natalia for this, because she started matching Elthon John songs with the boys and this stuff ensued.  
> Also, this is my first work in English, which is not my language, so I'm sorry for any mistakes.
> 
> xx

“I strongly dislike you. A whole lot.”

Louis is, against his will, squeezed in the back seat of Liam’s car, sitting right in between Zayn and Niall and behind Ed, who has his seat reclined in blatant disregard of Louis’ personal space.

He fiddles with the hem of his button-up, while trying his very best to pull a convincing annoyed grimace.

Nobody reacts to his words, or maybe they are purposely ignoring him. That could be. Louis wouldn’t be surprised.

The sun is starting to set, but they’re still quite far from Brighton. Or at least so they were when he asked Liam ten minutes ago, and as much as he would really like it, he’s pretty sure that you can’t make it that far in ten minutes. Especially if Liam-fifty-miles-per-hour- Payne is behind the wheel.

They should seriously think of drugging and putting him in the boot sometime soon, and then let anybody else drive for once, since until he’s in full possession of all his faculties he won’t let anyone touch his car.

“Mate, there are snails overtaking us,” says Niall in frustration, giving voice to the general sentiment lingering in the car.

Zayn glares at him in warning, because they’ve already had this discussion approximately twenty times since they got in the car, but Niall cheerfully chooses to ignore him. Instead, he drapes himself across Louis’ lap in an attempt to find a more comfortable position that apparently doesn’t involve the respect of Louis’ boundaries.

“Very funny Niall. But my car, my safety measures and all that,” replies Liam resentfully, before signalling and changing the lane, ever so careful. “Besides, patience is a virtue, didn’t they tell you?”

Louis really wants to strangle him. He’s torn between loudly displaying hatred for his four best friends and staying silent, just to wordlessly remark his disapproval on the decision to leave Doncaster at six in the evening for a four hours impromptu road trip.

Which was possibly the worst idea of the fucking century, and Louis _said so_ from the very beginning. Why is he suddenly the least irresponsible of them all? Must be wisdom coming with age.

Ah, weak spot, that.

It’s a Saturday night. No, it’s his _last_ Saturday night before the start of his _last_ year of university, and he really wanted to spend some quality time home with his mum and his sisters, drinking some tea and playing scrabble with the twins, before leaving for London. But of course no, the hassle that he calls friends had to force him into going to this stupid party at Nick fucking Grimshaw’s beach house, of all the places.

“I seriously loathe you very much,” he whines again, and _why_ no one ever pays attention to him? They could have easily avoided what is slowly- _very_ slowly -turning into a whole night on the road.

“You already said that,” points out Zayn in a sardonic tone, before taking a bored drag from his cigarette.

No shit, Sherlock.

It’s not that he enjoys being a spoilsport. It’s not, okay? He just doesn’t understand the fuss of having to drive all the way down to Brighton just to satisfy Nick’s delusions of grandeur. He would’ve done with a quiet night in, packing with no rush and then tomorrow morning they could have taken the train to London all together. Simple as that.

“Well, I’m just making sure that you fully grasp the concept,” he laments, opting then for poking obnoxiously Liam in the cheek, just because.

“Get off!” Squeaks Liam, responsive as always, promptly swatting his hand away. It’s so easy with him, it’s almost not funny anymore.

  _Almost_.

“Honestly, I think we’re way past that, Lou. Not like you’ve been grumbling non-stop since we picked you up or anything,” pipes in Ed from the passenger seat, pulling his best passive-aggressive smile and lowering a pair of sunglasses – that Louis is pretty sure are _his_ –on his nose. The boy has some fucking nerve, that has to be said.

“Since you _kidnapped_ me, more like,” he hisses, because no, he’s not okay with the turn this conversation has taken. They should all be a united front and fight _Liam._  Why aren't they fighting Liam?

“Pretty sure my mum could call the police.”

Now, _that_ would be absolutely brilliant. He could get them arrested for a couple of days and have their London flat all to himself. He could leave all his mannequins scattered in the living room, play music at insane volumes and perform a rendition of _Cats_ with no one ready to judge. Sounds like a wonderful plan.

“Pretty sure your mum was more than happy to see that you were going out instead of spending the day playing FIFA and eating extremely unhealthy food,” says Zayn tauntingly. “Like you’ve been doing the whole summer.”

“I did no such thing!” he gives Zayn a glance of betrayal. He is supposed to be on Louis’ _side._

“Yes, you did. You’ve been the epitome of a couch potato,” comments Ed, leaning in to play with the volume dial of the radio.

“Nobody asked you, Edward,” utters Louis under his breath. “Besides, the only potato here is Niall.”

“Yeah, anyhow,” cuts off the very same Niall from his lap, and _why is he still there_. “We need you if we want attend the best party of the year because you’re mates with Nick, period. Plus he would be upset if you didn’t show up.”

Wait, where is this coming _from_?

“What? First off, he invited everyone and their fucking mother from the university, and even if I’m flattered you think so highly of me, you really don’t need my recommendation, nor my presence to go,” he snorts, spitting out the gum he was chewing and mischievously putting it in Niall’s artfully styled hair, deciding to ignore his indignant noises. “Second off, we’re not _mates_. What the fuck? We just happen to work at the uni newspaper together. At best, he’s attracted to me. Get your facts right.”

Seriously, does he need to explain everything? Know the basics, Jesus.

“Third off, I don’t give a fuck if he’s upset. In fact, I find joy in his turmoil.”

Zayn unsuccessfully tries to stifle a chuckle and almost chokes on a drag of the umpteenth cigarette he’s smoking. Louis casts him a look of reprimand. “Have you quite finished?” he asks disapprovingly.

Zayn gestures to go on, still coughing and laughing heavily, gaining Niall’s attention, who starts to pat him roughly on the back.

“Anyways,” says Louis in a sigh, to regain the general attention. “Fourth and most important, is that I seriously don’t understand why you are so eager to celebrate the beginning of the _university year_. Especially since it’s my last.”

And well, it’s out. Partly. But still.

He didn’t think he could say it out loud, but now that he has, he feels slightly better. He stays silent after that, feeling  the others – minus Liam, because obviously – glance at him, and that makes his cheeks flush in embarrassment. He was hoping he was harder to read.

The fact is, this is the last year of certainty and stability he has. From now on, it all leads to his graduation, and then to the hope to find a job in the field he has chosen. Which is...ugh. Not easy. And he’s going to leave so many things behind, things he’s not ready to say goodbye to.

His friends, for once. The flat they share in Shoreditch, his course mates, his work table in the design room. He knows he won’t actually lose _all_ these things, that his friends would still be happy to take him in the flat again, that they will probably stay friends for life anyway. But how could he?

There is only one year that separates him from becoming an adult. From finding the job he will probably be doing for the rest of his life, from adjusting to new schedules, having a relationship that will last enough to be called so, settling down, dealing with problems that he has to solve without any help, because that’s what adults do. He will be out in the real world, without the school being his anchor anymore, and he will be alone.

He’s fairly sure he’s not ready to do all of this.

“Aww, you’ll miss us Lou, won’t you?” coos Ed, looking at him with eyes that are shining. It’s not only that, it’s not, of course, but even if Louis is loud and fun and talks a lot, he actually doesn’t share that much of what happens in his head. So he replies with a shrug, a sheepish smile, and lets it there.

“He’s a softie under all that sass,” laughs Liam. “We will miss you too, for the record. Nobody will ever be as good as you at causing a scene in the uni hallways.”

He knows he’s expected to counter the statement, and he would have, if only the anguish at the base of his stomach wasn’t so overwhelming to leave him at a loss of comebacks.

He has a peripheral view of Zayn’s concerned and confused stare, but doesn’t look back. His best friend definitely notices that something is off with him and insists, sliding one hand on his knee and brushing it gently. But Louis feels nauseous, feels empty, doesn’t like to be this exposed at all. He cringes and shakes his head, swatting Zayn’s hand in a gesture that hopes is saying _talk later_ , or better, _talk never_.

He’s just having one of those moments. It usually happens when he is alone, and it’s easy to ignore the feeling, because he’s not expected to fake that everything is good. But he doesn’t want them to know what he’s thinking, because they would only try to comfort him, making him feel a fool for being this paranoid, for fretting so much.

“Probably Nick will miss you too,” Niall teases, making him snort.

Definitely, they all are in a better place than Louis. They still have two years of university, nothing to worry about in the immediate future. And even after that, they’ve all got their road well-paved. Liam will be an engineer and extremely good at that. Ed will graduate in business and work with his father. Zayn has already a project for some graphic novels and they’re actually _paying him_ even if he’s just a second year. Niall is Niall and would be good even if he dropped out of uni and decided to start breeding Chihuahuas.

Not Louis, though. Louis, who at the end of the year will have a piece of paper in his hands, to state that he graduated in fashion design, and nothing more. Not holidays to look forward, but job searching, and shit like that. To his eyes nothing could be less appealing and more intimidating at the same time.

And he knows that even if they say so, they won’t miss him. Maybe at the beginning, yes, but then they will be dragged in their daily life, school work, projects, parties at a different flat every weekend, and Louis will be easily forgotten.

“I don’t know if he will, taken that Louis’ mission in life seems to annoy the shit out of Nick. Don’t understand why he still likes him,” mutters Ed, interrupting Louis’ internal monologue.

“The only relevant thing here is that I don’t like him,” he is still quieter than usual, carding his hands in Niall’s hair to calm himself and try to retrieve his normal mood.

“Sure,” Ed dismisses him, leaning in to turn the volume of the radio all the way up, humming happily when he figures what song is on. It’s the Beastie Boys.

Honestly, Ed has developed this bizarre taste in music that nobody has questioned yet. He needs to remind himself to take care of that, maybe write it down on his planner. God, his _planner._ He’s such a grown-up already.

Niall gets immediately up from Louis’ lap and picks up singing. “This song is sick! _Body movin’, body movin’!_ Fuck, remember the video? That was some shit!”

He is yelling with that unbearable chipper voice and his mouth is right in the proximity of Louis’ ear.

“That I do! _Body movin’, body movin’,”_ Ed bobs his head rhythmically, turning to high five Niall.

“Lads, stop that! I need to focus on the road if you don’t want me to crash the fucking car!” reprimands Liam like the true dad that he is, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

“Don’t you dare Liam Payne, I’m definitely too young and pretty to die,” states Louis, shoving Niall away, even if that doesn’t stop him at all. Louis should have known better.

“Anyway, are we there yet?” he asks hopeful, looking forward to this torture to end soon.

“ _Body movin’! Body movin’!”_

Ed has started to drum annoyingly on the dashboard now, making the whole thing ten times worse. Louis can already feel the headache building up.

“Guys, please,” Liam cries in a sigh. “And Lou, no. For the hundredth time, _no._ I swear on my car if you ask me one more time I’m going to drown you in Nick’s swimming pool as soon as we arrive.”

Louis is _so_ rolling his eyes. “You shouldn’t swear on your car Liam, since it’s the only reason we keep you around.”

“ _Body movin’! Body movin’!”_

Liam shrieks in indignation and turns around to glare at Louis with an homicidal look.

“Woah, watch the fucking road mate,” hisses Zayn, holding on to the seat as the car swerves dangerously, making them lose their balance.

“Right, tell your boyfriend to behave, Z,” agrees Louis, trying to steady Niall who has fallen all over him again.

“Louis! We’re not like that! It was only a kiss! _Louis!_ Zayn, tell him we’re not like that! I’m with Sophia!” Liam rambles nervously, his face reddening in embarrassment.

“Relax babe,” Zayn’s laugh curls in the air along with the smoke blowing out of his mouth.

“Yeah, relax _babe,_ ” grins Louis, clearly having too much fun.

“You suck,” informs him Liam in a contrived tone. “Very much.”

“ _Body movin’! Body movin’!”_

“Does this song say anything beside _body movin’_?” asks Zayn interested, looking at Ed and Niall with wide eyes and puffing out small clouds of smoke that smell of insouciance and superiority.

“Can you not encourage them, Zayn, babe?” pleads Louis with a warning glare.

“ _Body movin’! Body movin’! With the a-1 sound, sound so soothing!”_

Yeah, this is anything but soothing to be honest. Louis can feel how Liam is about to explode, the poor boy. They’re all trying his patience tonight.

Niall claps Ed’s shoulder impressed by his solo. “That sounded good! We should totally be a band!”

“Yeah, like, two men and two guitars!” agrees Ed excitedly.

“Okay, but you don’t get to practice in the flat,” clarifies Louis, crossing his arms.

“We could practice in here!” Niall snaps his fingers, happily retrieving Ed’s guitar from the trunk, managing to elbow Louis in the ribs and completely obstructing Liam’s rear-view, which of course makes him swear.

“Here mate,” he lifts the guitar up their heads, almost hitting Louis in the face with the headstock.

“For fuck’s sake, Niall!” he hisses, while Zayn seems to be unbothered by the whole thing, squeezing himself against the car door, flicking his cigarette out of the window.

“You can’t just play the guitar while I’m driving!”

Liam is having none of that.

“Yes I can! Because we are a band!” retorts Ed, starting to strum along.

“ _BODY MOVIN’ BODY MOVIN’”_

 _“_ Niall,”

_“BODY MOVIN’ BODY MOVIN’ WE BE GETTING DOWN AND  YOU KNOW WE’RE CRUSH GROOVIN”_

_“_ NIALL, FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!”

Liam turns the radio off and the car is suddenly still and silent, while they all look down at their lap like naughty children caught in causing trouble. Which, _yeah._

They don’t talk for a bit, the only noise coming from the tyres on the asphalt, the air almost eerie.

“I still dislike you, for the record,” Louis dares softly, once everything is calmer, drifting off on Zayn’s shoulder.

The other four exchange an exasperated look before groaning in unison.

“We know.”

-

 

“Lou,”

“Mhh,”

“Lou, wake up.”

He feels a hand gently brushing his shoulder, but despite the softness of the touch it still is quite the trauma being woken up when he was sleeping like a log, and would have very much loved to keep going on. He finally dares opening his eyes a bit, only to spot Liam’s body hovering over him.

“What do you want from me, Liam Payne? It’s still dark!” he complains weakly, looking outside the window, feeling his mouth dry and sour.

“Thank God,” he hears Niall murmur from his side as he wakes up as well. “Wasn’t hoping  we could make it within the night anymore.”

What? Make it where?

“Make it where?” he asks, eyebrows dumbly pulled together.

Liam is staring expectantly with his lips pursed and hands on his hips, as if he’s wondering why he still puts up with him.

“Oh, I don’t know Louis, _make it where_?” He mocks. He’s _mocking._ Louis doesn’t like it. “Nick’s house maybe? For the beach party? Remember?”

Louis rubs at his eyes, still a bit confused, and then makes out the brassy music coming from the back garden. And _oh._ Right. The party.

He tries to move, still tangled with Niall and Zayn who were sleeping all over him, –he’s not taking the middle seat _ever again_ – and feels his back hurt from the uncomfortable position he’s been forced in.

They climb out of the car, a sleepy bundle of limbs, stretching their backs and yawning. Louis smoothly tries to de-wrinkle his black button-up and blue jean shorts, failing miserably.

The party is already in full swing. There are people gathered around the swimming pool area, lightened by small candles scattered all over the place, sipping at their pompous cocktails that come in all the shades of the fucking rainbow. It’s packed, and they have to sneak past bunches of young boys in fedoras, bikini-clad girls and people with sunglasses on even if it’s full night.

They finally manage to reach the patio where the drink stand is. And of course it’s more like a proper bar counter, with a couple of actual bartenders dressed in ridiculous peach shirts and black suede waistcoats, who seem to be really good at pretending they’re not in the middle of regretting every single one of their life decisions.

“This is sick,” Louis hears Zayn say from his side, and turns around, only to see the others staring dazedly at the scene in front of them. The trees in the garden are adorned with small sets of lights and quirky paper lamps hang from the branches, while a group of violin players is exhibiting on a small stage, playing a lento cover of Love Me Like You Do, and it’s all very pretentious and very unreal. _And_ , very cool.

Not that Louis will admit it out loud. Like, ever.

“You forgot to tell us Nick is a fucking millionaire!” whispers Niall in disbelief, like he feels personally attacked.

“He’s _not_. I mean, he’s clearly wealthy, but he’s just really good at wasting all his parent’s money, really,” defends Louis, rolling his eyes. He has by now come to terms with the fact that the only reason why Nick attends university is to enjoy the uni life. His parties are one of the legends of their school, and given that this is probably his eight one, more or less, he must have been in university for something like a decade. He will probably keep failing his exams on purpose until he’s eighty and white, just to be the jovial host of the party for the start of the academic year 2060.

They approach all together the counter, where a bartender is making a show of his skills with the shaker.

“What can I do for you?” he asks with an imperturbable look, despite the fact that he’s mixing a pink cocktail while clad in a suede waistcoat with rose-gold buttons. If Louis is impressed, he doesn’t tell.

“A Mojito,” he blurts out, because the situation is too much to take in, and he needs something quite strong and he needs it now.

“You mean a _Beam & Paintbrush_?“ says the bartender in all seriousness. Louis is gaping at him with wide eyes, at a momentary loss. What.

“I beg your fucking _pardon_?”

“A _Beam & Paintbrush_” the bartender repeats smirking happily, and then points at a menu hanging on the wall behind him, that states “BOOZE CONCOCTIONS” in a curly handwriting font, following with a list of weird names and their corresponding cocktail. The urge to roll his eyes is _real._

“I’m not saying that,” he decides, shaking his head stubbornly.

What the fuck.

“For me a...Bronson?” jumps in Ed, tentatively. The bartender nods proudly and hands him a can of beer.

“An _Acrid Morning,_ ” singsongs Zayn, going for his usual Caipiroska. He’s impossibly grinning at Louis. He sure thinks he’s being hilarious.

“This is ridiculous. Did he use the hipster name generator?”

The guy wriggles his eyebrows at him turning then to listen to Niall, and Louis’ question remains suspiciously unanswered.

“And a...wait,” Niall frowns confused. “The code name for a Sidecar is still Sidecar?”

“Nick found it was hipster enough” shrugs the bartender. 

“You know Nick and you still agreed to this farce?” says Louis bewildered and fascinated at the same time. “I honestly admire and envy your phlegm, mate. You’ll go far in life.” He seriously thinks that.

“Cheers” the man says, and hands Louis his Mojito with a wink. Thank God.

They head in the house to find their friends, Niall’s girlfriend and Liam’s course-mates. Louis has already been here once, but now the house looks fairly different, completely cleared of every piece of furniture except for the couches, all lined up against the wall to make room for a lightning dance floor, already crowded with people.

There’s a massive DJ console beside the staircase, and the shift from the sweet melody playing outside to the thumping sound of the jungle music banging inside is just crazy.

“My _Armour & Hooves_ is deck, guys,” shouts Liam, and they all turn around to see if he’s serious or just taking the piss. He’s sipping at his non-alcoholic drink innocently, (sucks to be the designated driver, ha) beaming back at them with puppy eyes.

“Don’t,” warns Louis exasperated, looking straight into his pupils. “Just _don’t.”_

Before he can go on, he feels a hand gripping his shoulder, accompanied by a loud yell that manages to overcome the ridiculous pitch of the music. Louis can feel the bongos in his throat, seriously.

“Louis Tomlinson!”

Nick meets them with a stilted grin, a bottle of gin ( _Earth and Trilby_ ) in one hand and the other firm on the hip of a boy at least eight years younger than him. Of course.

He’s immediately in Louis’ space, planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek. Which. Fucking _no_.

“What an entrancing vision.” Nick slurs in his ear, with that annoying smile plastered big on his lips and breath smelling of alcohol.“Lads,” he says then, addressing the others with a nod of his head.

 _Afraid I can’t say the same_ Louis is about to return, dethatching himself from the man. But he has to abruptly bite his tongue when he properly takes in the view of the boy Nick is with, standing a few steps away, hands clasped behind his back and the head bent to cover a small, shy smile.

And now, _this_ is most certainly a vision. He’s tall, broad shoulders, but manages to look small and young all the same, as he looks at them with an upward tilt to his mouth, feet awkwardly together and that soft mop of unruly dark curls that contrasts nicely his pale skin.

Louis is helpless for a bit more than a second, and then tries to regain his composure, licking his dry lips. Play it cool, yes. He’s good at that.

“I already told you I was not interested when you were half-drunk and tried to bring me back to your hideous dorm, _Nicholas,”_  he manages instead, rubbing a hand on his cheek. He can see the curly boy bite his lower lip to stop his smile from growing.

This is good. They’re not involved, then. He wouldn’t want to step on Nick’s toes since they’re ma- uhm. Mortal enemies. Yes, that.

“He still keeps telling this story, eh?” Nick asks Zayn amused, with a knowing look.

 Zayn nods, slouching an arm on Louis’ shoulder, protective. “It’s one of his favourites, actually. That, and the one where you set the printer in the newspaper office on fire because a girl brought you a tea _with sugar.”_

“Ah, yes,” Nick smiles dreamily, like he’s remembering the good old times that will never come back and stuff. “Now, _that_ , might be true” he admits, a proud edge in his voice. “As for the one where I tried to lay him, it’s not. I would never do that, Louis, my precious _doll_.”

Louis snorts. He’s doing that a lot tonight. “Yeah, keep saying that to yourself. You’re just trying to defend your honour from the affront of my rejection and disdain.”

The pretty boy behind gasps trying to stifle a laugh, making a comical noise, and blushes when all the eyes are on him, cheeks pink in embarrassment. He is quite lovely.

Nick looks like he has suddenly remembered he’s there too, and smiles delighted. “Oh, where are my manners?” he says dramatically with a hand on his chest. “Lads, let me introduce you my friend, here,” he drags the boy in their small circle. “Louis, I think you’ll like him.” He’s wriggling his eyebrows. _Annoying_.

“Don’t think you can tell me what to like Nicholas,” he remarks sharply, stretching out his hand to the boy anyway, because he was not raised in the jungle.

“I hope you’re not going to dislike me just to make a point now,” the boy speaks for the first time, low and husky, holding Louis’ hand with that big radiant smile that makes Louis smile back without even noticing. It’s endearing, what can he say.

“ _But,_ ” Louis pouts, feigning indecision, “making a point of Nick’s bullshit is, like, my purpose in life.”

The boy laughs again, loud and open. “It’s a shame, then,” he grins. Louis is grinning back before he has the time to control his mouth. His stomach flutters seeing they’re still shaking hands, and he feels a flush climbing up his neck, making his way to his cheeks.

Get a _grip_.

“So,” he starts, and then stops because he doesn’t know what to say. He’s usually good at talking his way into getting people to like him, but this boy is leaving him too flustered for his liking. He doesn’t even remember his name. Maybe because he was too mesmerised by his dimples. Well, sue him.

“What is your name, again?” he asks, in a tone he hopes comes off as nonchalant.

“I didn’t tell,” his voice is so slow, and raspy, and also a bit amused. He has a nice mouth. Nice eyes, too. He looks very...natural, someway. Different, even. Not like all these hollow and affected people who just want to impress, who speak all high-pitched. Who want to be someone they saw somewhere else but in fact don’t know what they are or what they want.

“It’s Tennyson,” he says, a face impossible to read.

Louis is positively flabbergasted. “Like-"  he mouths helpless, “...like the poet?” he tries.

“Yeah,” the boy says softly, with his usual grin. “My father was a fan.”

Louis is searching for something to say that doesn’t come off as rude but still along the line of _why do parents have to disregard the topic of baby names to this point_ , when he spots from his peripheral Nick’s entertained and proud smirk, and he suddenly realises that he’s being fooled. By this _kid._

And now, this should really come as a lesson. Never let pretty eyes make you drop you guard.

“Ever so funny,” Louis says all innocent, faking a laugh and fanning his eyelashes. “But I’m gonna need to know your real name if you want me to say it when we’ll sleep together.”

The boy looks at him horrified and then shifts his gaze to Nick, trying to take one step back, stumbling in his gangly legs, a flustered blushing mess. Nice.

“Always the charmer,” states Nick fondly from the sideline. Louis could punch him, and finally relieve years of frustration.

“It’s alright petal, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m good, I promise,” he says, coming closer and steadying the other boy with a solid grip on his bicep. He’s looking at him with a dark earnest glance, eyes big and glassy.

“It’s alright, I just...It’s Harry, by the way.”

Louis beams at him, releasing his arm. “Pleasure, Harry. Nice name, but I think I liked Tennyson better.”

“Yeah, sorry to disappoint,” he smiles softly, scratching at his neck.

“No worries.”

“I do like your name too, Louis,” he says awkwardly, and Louis widens his eyes.

“Uhm. Thanks?”

He replies hesitant, caught off guard, and they’re just staring at each other wonderingly, the air suddenly electric and...and _something._ Louis becomes aware of the others, all looking at the two of them like they don’t belong to this world.

Nick nudges at Harry with his elbow, amused. “Well now that we’re all introduced and established that we like each other's names, me and Harry will leave you to enjoy the gathering,” he announces in the poshest of the tones.

“Especially you Louis, since it’s your last,” he adds with a wink, strolling off and dragging Harry with him.

And fuck.

Fuck off, honestly. Because Nick knows. They’ve talked about this. And Louis thought he could go five minutes without that feeling of anxiety and foul in his stomach, but of course Nick Grimshaw had to remind him that this was the last fun bit, with that stupid wink of his.

“Fuck him.” hisses Louis, with a dangerous grip on his glass.

“Didn’t even consider us a bit.” points out Niall, slightly offended.

“He’s a bit of a dick, yeah,” agrees Zayn squeezing his shoulder “Good party-thrower, though.”

And Louis cannot disagree, but he’s not taking any of his bullshit.

 “I’m totally going to occupy his sofa and stain it with a rainbow of cocktails.”

-

Louis is staying true to his words. He’s been splayed on the couch for the past hour, occasionally pouring some of his drink on the fabric of the seats, absolutely out of spite, and watching from afar his friends on the dance floor having the time of their lives.

Despite being in a shitty mood, he’s pretty pleased with the lovely shades of mint green his mojito is leaving on the couch. Truly the artist, he is. He hopes it will stink for days.

He spots Zayn approaching him, handing a suspiciously pink cocktail. He squeaks delighted, making grabby hands. “Give me that”

He’s sure that would make quite the disaster on the cushions.

Zayn sits on the edge of the couch, nudging Louis’ side with his knee. “I come shamelessly to bribe you. You get the drink if you come to dance with us”

Louis clouds. “I hate you”

“Yeah, love you, too. But seriously Lou, you should have fun. Socialise. Or do something beside laying on this couch, you know”

“Why would I do that? I’m depressed. I am entering a phase of mourning of my youth, and it’s only poetical that it happens in a place like this, corrupted by the shallowness of this generation”

Zayn sighs. “Lou”

“Zayn”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice your little moment in the car. Do you want to talk about it?”

Louis looks at him serious for a moment, and shakes his head. “No, please”

“As you wish. But listen, I get that you’re a bit sad or whatever, but this is not a good way to deal with it. You know we didn’t come to this party for you to spend the whole night sitting by yourself and be the party pooper.”

And now Louis is angry. He has the right to do whatever he wants. It’s not like he’s forcing them to stop having fun and join him. He’s not asking them to leave. And he said he didn’t want to come in the first place, but they were so bloody insistent that he felt guilty.

“Yeah, we came  to fucking acknowledge how _grandiose_ and mundane Nick Grimshaw is”he spits out, because Zayn doesn’t get that. He doesn’t get to decide how Louis has to feel, he doesn’t get to play down his feelings.

“Louis, don’t be an arse about this” he says, standing up.

“Well, too late”

Zayn’s look is sharp on him, and Louis feels a bit abashed, but doesn’t divert his glare.

“Right, too late” he retorts pointedly. “I’m going to enjoy myself now. Give us a call if you actually feel like acting normal” and like that he strolls off to reach the others on the dance floor.

Louis closes his eyes and plants the heels of his hands in his sockets. He knows he’s not being fair to Zayn, and to the lads as well, but the problem is, they wouldn’t understand. He’s been feeling like this the whole summer, some sort of unmotivated sadness that can’t possibly depend on the fact that he’s finishing school alone.

Usually people think that just because he’s always been loud and bright, he only has happy things in his story, only the good in his life; when it’s probably the other way around. And not that his life has been unhappy so far, but you can’t really be a happy person, in the same way you can’t be a sad person. There are moments and other moments, and even if some sorrows can be like tattoos or scars on someone’s skin in a way that happiness can’t ever be, you learn to know that happiness, in its truly form, is ephemeral, infrequent, and you need to earn it. But Louis doesn’t know how.

He suddenly hears someone approach him, feels the person sitting on the handle of the sofa, a shadow looming over him, but he doesn’t open his eyes, nor makes an effort to straighten himself up.

He hopes it’s Zayn coming around, so he can say he’s sorry and can stop feeling guilty, or maybe it’s Harry, beautiful Harry, if he’s managed to free himself from Nick’s patronising grip. He finds his stomach warming up at the thought of the boy. He could do with just looking at him and his stupid dimpled smile the whole night.

“You know, you should leave some room in case someone wants to sit down a bit” the person says. And it’s not Harry.

Louis can’t believe everybody made the pact to never leave him alone. He clearly must have done something wrong in a past life.

“Yeah, no, I’d rather them to fuck right off”

The boy laughs, and Louis forces his eyes open. It’s Greg, one of Nick’s course-mates who also happens to work at the paper with them. And Louis is being rude again.

“Hi. Sorry. Didn’t mean to tell you to fuck off”

Greg laughs again, sipping at his beer and offering then the bottle to Louis. Louis is not a beer man, but he feels like he’s not remotely drunk enough to survive this night, so he accepts it. It’s all grist to the mill after all.

“It’s okay, it’s my fault” and Louis doesn’t understand. “I should have been more direct maybe? It was just my lame attempt to make you leave this couch and come to dance with me.”

Louis arches his eyebrows fazed. Somebody should teach this boy how to be smooth. “Did Zayn send you here?”

“Who?” he asks, and looks sincere.

“Just checking”

“I just saw you here alone and thought I could try my luck”

Louis still doesn’t understand. “Try your luck?”

“You must know you’re not that hard on the eyes, Louis” Greg smiles at him, a bit mortified.

“Oh” he says, taken aback. But Greg must misinterpret his tone, because his smile fades abruptly. “But I can tell when someone is not interested, so I’m going to beat a retreat and save my honour until I can.” He half-laughs in self-deprecation.

And it’s not that Louis _is_ interested. Greg is not his type and he would like to be done with seamless one night stands anyway.  But he’s starting to realise that all this laying on the couch and pondering the meaning of life is not getting him anywhere, and he might as well try to make the most from this unnecessary visit to Nick. So he caves.

Greg goes to get up and leave Louis, but he stops him with an hand on his arm.

“Wait. Alright.”

“Alright?” Greg’s looking at him like he can’t believe his ears.

“Yes, let’s go dance” he ejects, before he can change his mind.

He takes a hold of his hand and drags him on the dance floor, grabbing in passing a glass of something from a counter, unceremoniously swallowing half the content in one go.

The music is thumping and venomous. Nick probably made sure they could hear the noise from the other side of the town. Louis hated him with passion, but had to admit the party turned out alright.

Okay, more than alright. And he now was dancing with a nice boy, almost drunk, enjoying life as it should be.

He should probably be with his friends, though. He also promised Zayn he would stop making inconsiderate decisions. But then he thinks of Zayn and he’s upset because of their argument and he starts to feel guilty and dirty as Greg grinds on him.

If only he could stop _thinking._

Greg catches his hand and makes him spin around, so that he is plastered on his back and laying his hands on his hips. Louis gives him a lopsided smile and takes another swig from his glass, starting to move in sync with the music, feeling the rhythm, feeling more light as the alcohol starts travelling through his body. He’s good at this, he knows, he likes this kind of airiness, his body almost floating, the music taking over his mind, the attention on him.

He closes his eyes enjoying for a moment the breeze coming from the open balcony, relieving the feeling of hot and sweat and drunk. When he opens them, he caches a glimpse of green eyes tracking his moves.

The eyes belong to a tall curly boy with pink lips, white shirt and skinny jeans, leaning against the frame of the door that leads to the kitchen, with his lips pressed together in a thin, thin line and arms crossed on his chest.

Harry.

He stands there, impossibly stunning, clutching heavily on a glass, knuckles white. Louis stomach feels odd, his lungs constricted, and it’s like the room freezes as he stares back.

He twirls, he grips Greg’s waist and moves even more, dancing his way on the centre of the floor. He spins, and again, he meets the pair of green eyes, and he stills, blanking out, because they’re scowling at him.

Greg starts making his way along Louis neck, leaving moist kisses on his throat that just don’t feel right. Louis has still his eyes on the boy, on Harry, he sees him closing his, and then slouching his arms, miffed, and turning around, walking stiffly to the counter bar.

Louis precipitously disentangles himself from Greg’s grip uttering confused words of apology, leaving the other guy dumbfounded.

“I’m- I’m sorry I just don’t-“

He just walks fast, without an explanation, rubbing a hand over his face and grabbing a glass of something thick and hopefully very alcoholic from the first table he bumps into, before reaching his group of friends, all huddled up in a corner of the room and sort of awkwardly dancing in a small circle.

He refuges himself in Zayn’s arms, who looks down at him without saying anything, and just holds him in place, putting his chin on Louis’ shoulder.

“Alright? I’m glad you changed your mind” he says in his hear, without letting anyone notice, and Louis will never be able to show Zayn how grateful he is for their friendship, so he just murmurs a thank you in his shirt, and feels his friend holding tighter.

Zayn always knows better, even when he doesn’t know anything. And if Louis is sure of one thing, is that he belongs here, with his friends, with Ed complaining about the music, Liam trying not to look sad because he can’t drink and Niall, who apparently cannot get drunk and keeps reminding so to anyone who will listen to him.

“...and this is when I realised my stomach could handle eight pints without throwing up!” he yells cheerfully, raising his glass.

“Now, that’s a goal Niall” Liam says, gently sipping at his orange juice and patting the Irish boy on the back.

“You do realise that’s almost four litres of beer?” asks Ed in disbelief, uncertain between believing Niall’s story and trusting the rules of nature.

“And?”

“I’m sorry but I call bullshit Niall” says Zayn with an apologetic look, even if his face is split in a grin.

“No guys it’s true, I was there to witness” says Barbara defensively, but of course she would, she’s Niall’s girlfriend after all.

“I’m with Zayn in this, sorry Ni. And you do not count as witness” Louis says loudly, untangling himself from Zayn and pointing at Barbara with an accusatory look.

“I most certainly do!” she spits back, outraged.

“You do not!”

“I do!”

Louis is heavily gesticulating now, galvanised as he is to make his point, clearly enjoying this too much. He stretches out an arm and feels his watch caught on something. “You d-“ he starts to retort as he tries to retract his arm, and then hears the clear sound of something tearing off.

 Shit.

“You tore my shirt off”

Louis turns around at the blank statement, and Harry is in front of him, looking in disbelief at his own white shirt which now has a big rip on the front, showing his chiselled chest inked with a few intricate tattoos.

Louis’ mouth dries, and he’s conscious they’re all staring at Harry a bit helpless. Or perhaps it’s mostly him, but whatever. He’s holding on to the part where the rip is, making Louis feel remorseful.

“I’m sorry” he tries. What was he doing behind Louis, anyway?

“Yeah” Harry breathes in, almost comically, like he’s struggling to not tell Louis off. “Don’t worry, not your fault. I’m sure I can borrow something from Nick”

Louis still feels a bit guilty even if he knows it’s not his fault. And that shirt looks expensive as fuck. And if he has to be honest he’s not okay with the thought of Harry going around in one of Nick’s ratty t-shirt.

“Look Harry, I’m sorry. I can fix it.”

He makes an effort to ignore Barbara’s insinuations on the fact that he can’t leave a place without causing some trouble first. Which is in no way true, by the way. It’s all _accidental_. The universe conspiring against him.

“Ehm...no worries, really. It’s okay.” Harry’s eyebrows reach his hairline, and then he pulls a smile that quite doesn’t reach his eyes.  He looks past Louis, to search for support in the others.

Louis rolls his eyes outraged. “Come with me” he puffs. Does Harry think Louis _can’t_ do this?

“I really need to make it up to you” he takes the boy’s arm and drags him down the hallway, ignoring his protests. He opens several doors, entering a closet and a bedroom that _should have definitely been locked, for fuck’s sake,_ before finally finding the bathroom, all shining in marble and gold. Because obviously.

“There” he says in satisfaction, locking the door. Harry’s eyes flicker over him, a bit preoccupied.

“What are you gonna-”

“Don’t worry, I never do anything until the third date” he says mockingly, shaking his head. Honestly.

Louis hops on the countertop and nudges softly Harry’s thigh with his ankle. “Come here”

The boy complies reluctantly. Louis fishes his wallet from his back pocket. He opens it and fumbles with a zipper, retrieving a needle and some white thread, just the perfect shade of Harry’s ivory shirt.

“I need you to take your shirt off first. I could probably do it while you’re wearing it, but I do prefer a fine job” he says, all business-like.

“How is it that you just happen to have sewing supplies in your wallet? Did you plan this?” Harry says suspicious, pouting at him, but slowly unbuttoning his shirt at the same time.

And Louis may be shamelessly peering at Harry’s abs with a bit too much interest, but please, he’s all for professionalism.

“Oi, you were the one creeping behind me if I’m not wrong.” He’s mostly joking, but then he sees a glitch of guilt on Harry’s face, which turns a light shade of crimson.

He’s struck silent for a moment.

“I just wanted to talk to you” he admits then, shyly.

Louis is taken aback. He glances at Harry, standing a couple of steps from him, so close, curls tucked behind his ears that keep falling back on his face whenever he tilts his head, pale skin, arms heavily inked in a sort of inexplicable harmony, broad chest, narrow waist defined by the line of his black jeans falling short on his hips.  

“And what exactly did you want to tell me?” he breathes, hot.

Harry bites the cushion of his lower lip, like he’s carefully pondering the answer before speaking.

“I don’t know”

Oh well, making progress there.

“I just really wanted to talk to you” he adds, meekly. He proceeds to hand him his shirt, trying a smile, and Louis takes it.

 “Nice shirt. Nice quality” he comments, feeling the silk fabric between his fingers.

“Thanks”

“I wasn’t complimenting you” Louis jokes “I was complimenting who made it”

“Oh” Harry’s smile fades a bit and he flushes. “Yeah, I guess- _yeah,_ I guess it’s- I just thought you meant-“

Louis looks at him tilting his head. Honestly, does this boy know how to put a sentence together?

“I was only joking, petal. Shush now, I’ll try to fix this mess.” Louis bends on the shirt, starting to stitch the rip together.

“Are you actually sure about this?” asks Harry uncomfortably, apparently worried for his shirt, and also flushing at the term of endearment. “What next? Are you going to cook me a Sunday roast?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s safe to let me anywhere near a stove” retorts Louis easily. “But I inform you that I study fashion design and I am indeed a damn good tailor” he debates, shifting his attention to Harry.

“That’s how you met Nick isn’t it? You are in charge of the fashion part of the paper?” asks Harry, cutting himself off abruptly, like he wasn’t supposed to say what he just said. Ah, somebody did his research.

“Very well, five points to Gryffindor” Louis nods. “But unlike Nick, I don’t plan to spend my twenties in uni. I do intend to graduate” he clouds a bit, and as much as he doesn’t want Harry to notice, he does, of course, if the questioning look he pulls is anything to go by.

“It’s just” he breathes in. “That I’m starting to come to terms with the fact that I’m closer to the moment where I have to stop imagining how my life will be and start to live it instead.”

And that _terrifies me_ , he doesn’t say.

It stays silent between the two of them for a couple of moments, while Louis is curved on the shirt, carefully sewing the rip and Harry gradually shifted in between his legs with both his hands on each of Louis' knees, watching him with a pensive look.

“But Louis” he says, with a tone that shows all the naiveté that his appearance sometimes manages to hide. “You’re _living it._ You are.” His eyes are bright. “You’re so _alive_ ”

Harry is pale and hesitant in the dim lights of the bathroom, his skin delicate, his manners uncertain and reverent in the way he brushes with a thumb Louis’ thigh, tentative, almost asking for permission. They’re both looking down at Harry’s fingers smoothing the fabric of Louis’ blue jeans, holding their breath.

Louis wants to kiss him.

He wonders about what he’s doing, who is this boy, what does he want from him, what Louis is willing to give, what he wants to take, what is happening between them, is this right, does he care if it’s not?

There’s more silence, more uncomfortable silence. Then Louis speaks, weak.

“You know, maybe that’s because I thought I liked living without certainty.”

And it’s true. He loved that his life was like that, with no obligations, always easy. Not in the way that he didn’t have problems, but somehow he never had to worry too much. An unpredictable succession of events. It was all very him.

“I thought” and now his brain is going deep, deep and he doesn’t know if there’s a way to go back now that he started to unravel all the things that were buried for so long. “I thought that everybody had to accept what I am. But then I don’t even know _what_ I am. Am I broken? Am I wrong? I always make the mistake to give for granted that people who I love will love me back for who I am, but how, if even I don’t know what I am?”

“And I’m starting to think I am nothing, and I tried to convince myself all this time that it had to work this way for everyone, because I needed people to accept my flaws.”

“Louis” Harry says, sad and melancholic. “Louis, you’re _not_ nothing” it looks like his eyes are watering, and Louis wants to smooth the crease between his eyebrows and kiss the tears away. “Please don’t ever say things like that”

And he’s so tender, really, his eyes can’t hide a thing.

“Yeah” he agrees, moving uncomfortably. “Yeah, I’m sorry I upset you”

“It’s not because of that” Harry says, almost angry. “It’s because I think you’re beautiful.”

“I’m really not” he snorts.

“You are, though. You’ve got this light Louis, I don’t know how to explain it, but I was so smitten when I first saw you that I thought- “

“Harry-”

His hand now is pressing harder on Louis’ knee, and it almost hurts. He leans in, cups Louis’ face with his other big hand, tilting his chin up, and he doesn’t really know how, but they’re kissing, slow and soft.

Louis drops the shirt he so carefully sewed up and lets his hands roam over Harry’s waist, his fingers rushing the naked skin of his hips, and it’s hot and humid and breathless and wonderful.

They part imperceptibly, and Harry is smiling expectantly at Louis, and Louis doesn’t know what to say, hands still all over Harry. He looks beautiful, pliant and flushed like this, smiling happily with Louis’ face cupped in his hands.

Louis pulls him close again, starting to pepper his collarbones with soft kisses, reaching his neck, where he leaves a possessive bruise that he kisses better, touching, always touching, and it’s skin on skin, smooth and fire under his mouth and his tongue and his fingertips.

Harry brings a hand to touch the love bite as well, and his fingers tangle with Louis’, sending a flurry of butterflies in his stomach.

“I want it to never fade” says Harry, hesitant, with green shiny eyes on Louis.

“But it will, eventually”

“You could keep making it”

Louis swallows, feeling a weird and sour awareness in his stomach, a throbbing pulse low, somewhere, in his gut, and for some reason he always has to say the wrong thing.

“It’s not like we’re gonna grow old and gray together”

Harry freezes under his touch, Louis can distinctly feel him stiffen and part abruptly from where he was all tucked in his chest. He doesn’t have a lapful of Harry anymore, and it feels wrong and cold.

He stays paralysed for seconds that last hours.

“Yeah” he stutters eventually, grabbing his shirt from where it was, crinkled and neglected, discarded on the sink. Louis feels sick in his stomach. “Yeah, sure” Harry keeps muttering, pulling the shirt on again and managing to hide for a moment his embarrassed face. “Sorry but I...”

“Harry” Louis says watching him recompose himself, and doesn’t know what to do, he only knows he doesn’t want things to go like this.

“I think I better go now” he says, and no, Louis doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want him to go.

“Harry, please.”

Louis fucked up. Harry unlocks the door and is almost outside, when he stops, thoughtful and sad.

“Despite the shirt” he says, and he manages a tiny, minuscule heartbreaking smile “I don’t believe in summer dreams ripped at the seam, Louis”. He dashes off then, leaving the door wide open, letting the noises and a reality he’d forgotten burst inside. Did he just quote Grease at him?

Louis is left in there, motionless and flustered from the trace of Harry’s fingers on his body, still too hot to let him live under the pretence that this doesn’t mean anything.

-

When Louis finally manages to haul himself up and get out of the bathroom, the light in the living room has changed. Instead of those colourful disco lights there are lamps dimly lightening the room. He sees people gathered around the DJ console, and Nick on the stairs, speaking into a microphone.

“Alright people, is time to slow things down! Let’s pair up and let yourself be lulled by whatever is that my charming friend Harold is gonna play!” Nick announces with his usual flaunt tone, pointing to Harry, who is standing in a corner, blushing when all the eyes are on him.

He moves and goes to sit at the piano stool. The pulsing music suddenly stops and Nick smirks, jumping off of the stairs and grabbing the hand of a blonde girl, making her twirl.

Harry slides his long fingers on the keys and a slow and sweet music starts to flow from the instrument. The people around start dancing on the rhythm while Louis can’t withdraw his eyes from the boy, who looks so small behind the black piano.

Louis goes through the people dancing, needs to be closer, attracted by the music, unwinding in the room.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, turns around.

“Lou, there you are! Wanna dance with me?” asks Zay, softly and mildly drunk.

“I’m sorry, I...” he glances back at Harry, playing with a focused frown, tongue peeking out of his lips.

Zayn nods, and lets him go.

Louis is so close now, blown away by the beauty of the music Harry is making, feels light, numb, feels his heart thumping, feels unreal. He can see the way Harry is dragged by the melody, dulcet but also melancholic, or sad, even, and his face so absorbed by it, oblivious of the world outside, as he masters the art of playing piano like his life depends on it.

Then the song ends and Harry withdraws his hands from the keys, looks around nervously before staring down at his lap without knowing what to do.

The DJ has put back some crappy loud music and everybody has picked up on dancing excitedly, nobody as mesmerised as Louis by Harry’s performance.

He sees Nick approaching the curly boy and giving him a pat on the back, before strolling over the dance floor with a solid hand slouched over the shoulder of a random bloke.

But that’s it. Harry would have deserved a fucking standing ovation. Because he had been amazing and Louis had found himself wanting to cry, and laugh, and scream, and dance, and run far, far away, and possibly jump off a cliff.

He is still staring at Harry with an intense look when the boy looks up again and finally meets his eyes, flushing and quickly turning to stare down at his hands again.

Louis feels suddenly warm and dizzy and decides to take a chance and get closer.

“Harry. That was absolutely incredible” he says, delicately trailing his thumb on Harry’s bicep.

Harry looks up at him from the stool where he’s still sitting , cheeks bright red and a faint smile on his lips.

“Thanks” is all he says.

Louis fidgets on the balls of his feet with the need to explain to Harry what he was feeling, to make sure he understands.

“No, you were truly amazing. I bet they tell you all the time, but that had to be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard” he says earnestly.

“Really?” Harry brightens up and then abruptly controls himself, like he’s not used to hear things like that. “I mean- I don’t think so, but that’s very nice of you.”

Louis decides to ignore the trace of self-deprecation and tries to smile at him.

“So is this what you do then?”

Harry looks at him in confusion before answering sharply. “I study composition if that’s what you mean. I know, it’s stupid” and his voice has an odd tone that is hard to decipher.

“I think it’s incredible. I actually think you’re kind of brilliant”

Harry widens his eyes in surprise. “I want to compose for cinema you know” and then he stops himself, like he’s saying something he shouldn’t be saying. “I’m sorry. You probably don’t care”

Louis feels a pang of remorse in his gut, and dares to slide his hand on Harry’s cheek.

“Look Harry, I’m really sorry”

Harry fidgets  but doesn’t free himself from Louis’ touch.

“I don’t blame you Louis, I just thought that you finall-“ he cuts himself off. “It’s just that I’ve liked you for so long, since I saw you at the paper when I came with Nick. But we want different things, I get that” he sighs, leaning in where his cheek meets Louis’ hand.

“We probably don’t, though” he whimpers, breathless.

“Louis”

“Come with me Harry?”

He looks at him for a couple of motionless seconds, then he just nods and offers his hand to Louis.

Louis beams and takes his hand to haul him up on his feet, and drags him through the room, through the crowd of plastered people dancing, out in the garden. He feels Harry’s hand firm and wrapped around his, warm and reassuring, and he is suddenly aware of all the places where they’re touching, their fingers, their arms brushing at every step, their shoulders bumping into each other.

They head out, still soaked up in the atmosphere of the party, flushed and with the ears full of noise. They walk at a different pace, bumping into each other, clumsy and embarrassed. Louis wants to balance the thick and dense silence by trying to joke about something, to say something funny, which is a thing he’s always been good at without really needing to try, always playing things down, always the cool with witty responses. But it’s like he doesn’t have any idea now, he fails to make out the sound of the words in his head, to rearrange them in different ways. He settles for turning around, Harry stopping as well.

“It would be nice if we could escape” he lets go of Harry’s hand and looks up to glance at him, careful, only to see the searching look on the other boy's face, and feel heavy and foul all over again.

“I bet I’m faster than you!” he suddenly shouts, and he’s off in a cloud of dust without notice, running in the garden, avoiding the people and not looking back.

Harry after a moment of disbelief catches up, starting to run as well. Louis can hear his slow and panting stride but doesn’t turn around, feeling light and free as he runs, runs, crosses the road and reaches the seaside and finally stops, hands on his hips, catching his breath, admiring the horizon, only faintly noticeable in the dark of the night.

“Not fair” says Harry, pouting, when he finally reaches him, panting, doubled over with the hands pressed on his knees to recover. “You didn’t even warn me”

Louis smiles, bright, without tearing his look from the ocean. “You wouldn’t have won anyway”

They walk without speaking now, Louis gingerly watching his steps, while Harry follows at a slower pace.

The sea murmurs behind his back, the waves break on the rocks and the air is salty and dense around them.

Louis comes to a halt, and Harry almost crashes on his back. He stills him, grasping his elbow with a gentle touch, biting his lips. And Harry is watching him, always watching him, with his green eyes that Louis can’t quite figure how big they are.

“I thought you wanted to escape”

“I did”

“But I don’t know why”

Louis sighs. “You shouldn’t need to know why. Neither do I.”

Harry stays silent for a couple of moments, his eyebrows knitted together. Then his face eases like he’s come to term with something and he is all in Louis’ space, so unexpected and very warm.

“You’re right,” he presses his mouth on Louis’ shoulder, eager, and he can feel the damp touch of his plump lips even through the layer of his shirt. “We could escape together.”

He parts a little, without looking at Louis, his arms still clenching at his back. And Louis is startled and surprised at these words, at how Harry accepts everything he says without questions, without further curiosity. With so much respect, with enough confidence to ask, with enough sensibility to understand that sometimes he just doesn’t want to share.

He stares at nothing, eyes empty, chin on Harry’s shoulder, engulfed in his strong arms.

“I feel empty sometimes”

He doesn’t know what he wants to say. He would like Harry to fix him, when he himself doesn’t even know what’s broken.

“Yeah” Harry’s voice is a light whisper, so even that Louis could be imagining it.

“I feel like I don’t know anything, Harry. Sometimes I feel alone when I’m surrounded by people. Sometimes I’m scared that I won’t find anything that will keep my heart warm” Louis is freaking out, he knows that, but it seems like he can’t stop now, he’s a river in full force, every sign of restraint disappearing from his mind, and he knows that he’s in too deep to just laugh away his thoughts like he always does.

“I think that now that I’m off in the world, I don’t have anything that’s real”

Harry forces his arms around him even more, with his nose in Louis’ neck, maybe because he knows Louis wouldn’t keep talking and revealing if Harry’s big eyes were scanning him, inquiringly.

“Sometimes I look behind, at the things I’ve done in my life, and I can’t see brightness, I can’t see the concrete. It’s like I’ve lost something on the road. Like I should go back to a moment and do something different. You know, like, I can only remember the gray skies and the disappointment, when something bright should have been there, if only I acted differently. Because there’s not a single thing in my life that is steady, solid, for the future.”

He sighs, but he doesn’t want to cry. “I’m sorry, this doesn’t even make sense”

“It does. It does, I promise. But solid things, are overrated. You’re still young for that. You need what you want, not what they say you should want” says Harry, and Louis doesn’t reply.

“Louis” Harry still isn’t looking at him. “You don’t need to hold back. It’s okay to send your thoughts to a different place, so you can find an answer. Or something more.”

Louis feels an urge at the base of his stomach and loosens the embrace to align his nose with Harry’s.

“Or, you can just give them to me. I promise I will keep them for as long as you wish me to. Even forever” He says, and smiles pensively in consent, as Louis goes to peck at his lips.

And Louis so wants this, he’s wanted this the whole night, he wants to feel Harry on every part of him, to feel light and loved, to feel that someone understands even if he doesn’t share much, to feel that someone’s finally got him.

“It scares me shitless how easy is with you,” he whispers, closing the distance. “How much I trust you”

They are swaying, clinging to each other, and it’s so strange and soothing, in a way, when they’re not overwhelmed by the sounds, or the music, vulnerable in the silence, exposed bare to the reality that they’ve unmistakably found each other, without being sure of what to do of this.

Harry’s hands slide under Louis’ button-up, caressing his skin. He has his eyes closed, and moves further up, pressing hot touches on Louis’ shoulder blades. Louis puts his hands on Harry’s hips, and then slowly starts to unbutton his shirt. But Harry abruptly opens his eyes and looks up, sulking.

“It’s raining”

Which. No.

“Cannot fucking believe this” he groans in frustration, and Harry laughs, and is so loud and lovely that he almost startles at the sound his voice is making.

Harry kisses him again, quick, he kisses him under the rain. Louis has never kissed anybody under the rain, and suddenly it seems so unfair that he has been deprived of such an important experience in life.

“Louis, we shouldn’t worry about the rain, because beyond the clouds there is still a blue and clear sky. We only need to go past them, to dig a hole in the fluff” states Harry all serious.

Louis chuckles in disbelief, and takes a hold of Harry’s hand, starting to run fast.

“What are you doing!” Harry giggles, the rain heavier now, cold and wet on their clothes, matting their hair to their forehead.

They stop in front of a row of beach huts, Harry seems he can’t stop laughing.

“I like this one” he says, bright, spotting one painted in a pastel minty green.

“Okay”

Louis starts to tamper with the door lock, then attempting to kick it down with his shoulder.

“I’m in no way suggesting that you’re not strong enough, but it’s going to stop raining before we can get in, Lou” observes Harry, without even trying to keep his giggles down.

“Well you should help me instead of guffawing like a toddler!”

“Lou, Lou. I’ve got this” he lifts him with two big hands on his waist and pulls him aside. Then takes a hair grip from his hair and starts to fumble with the padlock.

“A hair grip. Are you kidding me? A proper walking cliché, you are”

“At least I’m providing us with a shelter” he says smug, as the lock clicks open. “Unlike someone else I know” Harry holds the door open for Louis with a bright and proud smile. Louis snorts tauntingly and stumbles inside the small cabin, which is almost empty and carries a smell of damp wood and sun cream.

There are objects scattered on the wooden floor, towels, armbands and small toys, all covered in sand. Louis sits down, cross-legged, and Harry is immediately beside him.

“See, I can take care of you”

He touches the seam of his lips, he draws it with his fingers, and it’s like Louis' mouth parts for the first time in ages.

“Louis”

Louis holds his breath and closes his eyes, getting closer, always closer.

“Harry” he exhales, his voice a whisper.

“Do you think it’s possible to fall in love hard and fast in a beach hut on a rainy night?”

Louis’ fingers tentatively track every contour of Harry’s face, and he feels himself picturing all the small details in his brain. He opens his eyes all of a sudden and the very picture of Harry is in front of him, like an old slide, with these big and honest eyes that won’t leave him. And then their mouths crash in a hurry, in a wordless agreement, and they fight, and bite. Louis has his hands in Harry’s curls and it’s soothing and sweet and careful, opposed to the fierceness of the kiss. Harry is trembling like a reflection in the water underneath his hands, that start to roam down on his hips, closer, his body moulding on Louis’ in this small secret of a place that smells of sand, wood and summer memories, and feels almost borderless even if it forces them into each other space.

Louis buries his nose and his face in Harry’s hair and breathes steadily.

Harry smells like the end of summer.

-

The storm ended eventually, and they’ve been laying on the damp sand for an unknown amount of time, just smiling stupidly and looking at each other.

 Some guys have set a small bonfire on the beach, close to where they are resting.

“I really want to look at the stars” blurts out Harry.

“’Course you do” Louis smirks, taking Harry's hand and scooting closer, until he's in his arms.

Louis doesn’t look at the stars, though. He takes in Harry’s profile, only lightened by the fire and the headlights of the cars passing by. But he can clearly see the glitch in his eyes, dark and big, that move to search his own.

They’re laughing now, for longer than the situation justifies, loud and unabashed.

“What do you want Harry?” Louis asks.

“I want to dance” he replies tiredly, covering his mouth with a hand.

The music comes muffled from the bonfire. Louis looks at Harry offering his hand to haul him up on his feet. He looks soft and tentative, as he frowns like he’s suddenly remembered something very important.

“I’m not very good at dancing, actually”

“It’s alright” chortles Louis, pulling him closer.

“I just really liked watching you dance and I wanted to do it, too. With you.”

“Did you, now?” Louis smiles softly and privately at him, grabs Harry's hands to plant them on his chest, starting to sway sweetly.

“I noticed you were looking at me” he says, casually.

“I was jealous”

Louis grins, hugging Harry’s waist and resting his head on his shoulder. He’s too much.

“Hold me closer” whispers Harry.

“Closer than this?”

“Closer” Harry says again in a stubborn tone, and then pulls Louis to his chest, completely encompassing his body. He intertwines their hands, and looks down at them like he can’t believe at his eyes.

 _“Hold me closer tiny dancer”_ he hums apropos of nothing, making the rhythm slow and soft for the uncoordinated sway of their hips, that brush together at every small step, setting Louis on fire.

“ _Lay me down in sheets of linen”_ Louis sings tentatively, almost afraid. But Harry looks at him with the biggest smile he’s seen on his face so far. He stops, pressing a kiss on his knuckles, still tangled with Harry’s, and then lays on the towel they stole from the beach hut, taking Louis down with him.

“ _You had a busy day today”_ Harry hums ever so softly, as he unbuttons Louis’ blue jeans, his shirt already forgotten on the pebbles. And Louis sighs, losing every sense of control, restless under Harry’s breath, warm on his skin, giving all of him to the soft hands searching for his body, to sweet words whispered in his ear, to the incredulous moans, to sweet kisses that lead to hungry kisses. They touch, and rush, learning how their bodies work, together. Harry casts him a look that is fond and protective, and as he makes love to him, Louis feels, for once, whole.

Harry’s melody is low, soft, velvet,  almost lost, panted in the breeze blowing on the whimper-y mess they are.

“ _And now he’s in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand”_

-

Louis is up, still resting on the towel, the sun rising and a sleepy boy huddled up in his arms.

Harry looks even younger in the light of the day, his nose wrinkling every time he breathes in with a steady rhythm, like the waves on the beach.

He opens his arms, so he’s not caging him anymore and he’s free to leave. Because sometimes the night is deceptive and can distorts things, and maybe you wake up in the morning and suddenly decide that the night before was the stupidest of your life.

Not for Louis, though. The more he looks at Harry, the more he wants to let the sun wrap them in its warmness, let it reflect in Harry’s eyes, see as it makes his face hot and his cheeks turn pink.

Harry has eyes like the sun, all pretty and blossoming. Harry deserves to be held, to be loved, and maybe Louis still doesn’t know a lot of things, but he sure knows he can do that.

Harry instead of scooting away cuddles up even more in Louis' space. Louis purrs happily, and makes himself comfortable again, enjoying the salty and relieving morning breeze on his skin.

“Louis, tell your boy goodbye, we need to go”

He is about to fall asleep a second time when he hears Liam’s bright voice. He opens his eyes and sees his friend approaching him, followed by the other boys, trailing along, still hangover.

“My boy” Louis says, directing a soft and private smile to Harry, who is waking up as well. “My piano boy”

“ ’m not a piano boy” pouts Harry sleepily from Louis’ arms.

“Why?”

“Because piano boys are highly unreliable boyfriend material” Harry replies in a yawn, propping up on his elbows and staring at Louis with a serious expression. “One girl in every arena and stuff” he explains with a frowning expression, like it’s very important for him to reassure Louis.

“And _stuff”_ Louis smiles brightly, taking Harry’s face in his hands and kissing him stupid.

“Yeah. I’m not like that” he murmurs on his lips, and please. Louis knows, no need to interrupt a kiss.

“ ‘course you’re not. _Piano boy_. I thought that story was all about sailors? One girl in every port?” teases Louis, but his heart is secretly beating harder at Harry’s words.

“Them, too. It‘s why I like pirates better than sailors. They’re not appreciated enough.”

“How is so?” Harry is just adorably rambling, but he will get away with that because he never ceases to make Louis smile.

“Because they are, like, so brave and faithful. Have you ever read pirate stories? They’re so fascinating! And they are always misplaced and misunderstood, but luckily there are songs which make them justice” Harry grins, starting to hum their melody.

“ _Pretty eyes, pirate smile”_

That very pirate smile blooms unexpected on Louis’ lips, while his pretty blue eyes shine in the morning haze.

“ _You’ll marry a music man”_  Louis finishes, resting on Harry’s chest and holding tight, warm and content.


End file.
